


Sharp Edges

by SKEvans



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drug Dealing, Everyone schemes when they should just stick to their homework, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Mystery, Recreational Drug Use, Rewrite, Romance, Trauma, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKEvans/pseuds/SKEvans
Summary: For Cloud, there is no escaping the secrets that bind him to Nibelheim. Curiosity pulls Tifa into his orbit, drawing her to the mysteries that make up the town. As she digs deeper than she should, a careful web of lies unravels until there is no place to hide.What do you do when your world comes crashing down?
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Yuffie Kisaragi/Reno, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 38
Kudos: 96





	1. new town, new school, new girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Welcome to my new dumbest idea.  
> 1) Some of you might recognize this story. This is a rewrite/remake of my first fic of the same name. This version will only be posted here, on AO3.  
> 2) This is still, essentially, the same story; if you’ve read this before, you know how it ends. But it’s really about the journey and not the destination, isn’t it?  
> 3) That said, if you have read the original, I’ll ask that you don’t spoil the story in the comments out of consideration for new readers. I think this will allow for a better experience for everyone. Thank you for understanding!  
> 4) There are a lot of changes in the beginning/first half; the biggest change overall is the dual POV.  
> 5) This is sponsored by Karmi. Please direct all complaints to management.  
> 6) I hope everyone enjoys this!! Let’s go!!

**—**

**1.** _new town, new school, new girl_

_—_

_September_

—

There is something odd about their new house. Tifa can’t decide if it’s the angle of the roof or the outdated paint color. Maybe it’s the size—too big for her father and her. Who needs three bedrooms and two living rooms? Not her, and certainly not her dad who won’t ever be there.

The moving company Brian Lockhart hired was efficient, and all the two of them have to do now is unpack. They brought little from their condo in Midgar; her father has never been big on decorating. Blank walls seem to suit him fine, and Tifa took on the taste, not having known much else.

“Want to start with your room?”

She doesn’t look at her dad as she heads for the kitchen. It’s charming with its old-fashioned décor and mismatched furniture.

“We should do the kitchen first,” she says.

Her father sighs. “I’d like you to be settled before I leave.”

She holds in an eye-roll. He’s been leaving her alone to fulfill his workaholic tendencies since she was a kid. His recent promotion had him transferred to Corel, and on a sentimental kick, he’d decided he preferred living two hours away in his hometown of Nibelheim. Tifa hadn’t bothered asking what he’d do for transportation, knowing he would rent an apartment in Corel to stay there during the week, planning on coming back on weekends only. That had been his pattern for years.

Brian clears his throat, a telltale sign he wants to do small talk.

“So school starts on Monday.”

She hums in agreement, busy unpacking their utensils.

“Think you’ll be all right?”

“Yup.”

“Of course.” She catches his defeated sigh, then his retreating footsteps. “I’ll unpack the bathroom.”

Tifa blocks all other sounds as she focuses on the task at hand. They’re better off working on their own.

It doesn’t take long for her to be done, so she moves on to her room. She drags herself up the stairs, ignoring her father’s low off-key singing. Her bedroom is the biggest in the house, and she observes it as she flicks on the light switch. The walls are a lovely cream color, and there is a set of windows across from her. Even with her boxes strewn around, it’s spacious.

She takes in her bed against a wall, the enormous closet, her desk that was left in the middle of the room—all of it suffocates her. She doesn’t want to be in fucking Nibelheim. Though leaving her life in Midgar hadn’t been that hard, (there had been a lot of crying from her friends and empty promises to call her every week), moving to a small town she knew nothing of wasn’t something she’d wanted. Had they settled in Corel, they would have been in a city—not a big one, but it would have been familiar territory.

Hands on her hips, Tifa shakes herself out of it. She’s in Nibelheim now, and there is no use wallowing in self-pity. Her dad won’t ship her back to Midgar, so she’ll have to make the best of her senior year of high school. One year, then she’ll go back home for college. She can definitely do it. Rolling up her sleeves, she gets to work.

—

The next day, Tifa dresses up, prints her CVs, and borrows her dad’s car in search of a part-time job. She’s aware she can’t be picky about the job selection in a place like Nibelheim where everyone knows everyone, and she is the stranger. On their way here, she spotted a small shopping center on the outskirts of the town; it seems like the best starting point.

The place is crawling with people, though it is to be expected on a Saturday before school starts. Tifa might have misjudged the mall; it’s bigger than anticipated, with a decent selection of stores. She checks the directory, narrowing down which places would be ideal for her.

When she walks into the store that is her first choice, the employee at the cash register gives Tifa a blank look as if trying to put a name to her face. Short black hair frames the girl’s striking features.

Tifa approaches the counter with her best smile, masking her exasperation at being stared at.

“Hi, I’d like to apply for a part-time job.”

The employee blinks several times. “Did you just move here?”

Tifa nods; her smile strains. “Yesterday.”

To her surprise, the girl's face turns welcoming. “That’s cool. We haven’t had new blood in a few years. I’m Yuffie.”

Relief at Yuffie’s amiable nature has the tension leave Tifa’s body. “Thanks. I’m Tifa. You don’t get newcomers often?”

Yuffie rolls her eyes as she leans over the counter, resting her head in her hand. The few clients wandering the store don’t appear to bother her.

“Nope. Last time was six years ago. I’m dying for new friends.” She winks, making Tifa chuckle, before she goes on, “But we’re not hiring right now. They’re cutting the hours.”

At this, Tifa’s smile wavers. Damn it. Yuffie glances left, noticing a customer coming her way. She lowers her voice as if sharing a secret. “But Mademoiselle is looking for someone. You should try there if you don’t mind being bored to death.”

Though it doesn’t sound very appealing, Tifa won’t refuse a friendly gesture in a town where she knows nobody. Understanding the customer will get impatient, Tifa thanks Yuffie and leaves the store. She finds Mademoiselle after a peek at the directory again; it’s on the other side of the center and labeled a boutique for women of all ages.

She heads for the store, dismayed when she finds it in an isolated corner with an empty café as a neighbor. Tifa gives it a once-over; the clothes are out-of-date and on the eccentric side of fashionable. Boutique for women of all ages, _right_. The only person in the shop is a middle-aged lady babbling on the phone. From the way the lady is gestures and laughs, it’s obvious she’s not working.

Tifa grimaces and is about to step outside when the woman notices her and, conversation forgotten, strides her way.

“Can I help you?” Her smile is as fake as can be, and it makes Tifa hesitate for a second. But she takes out her CV and presents her hand to shake.

“Hi, I’m Tifa. I was told you were looking to hire someone?”

The woman’s handshake is limp, but the way her eyes devour Tifa’s CV doesn’t lie; she’s desperate for an employee.

Half an hour later, Tifa finishes filling out her hiring paperwork, and her new boss schedules her to work the following Saturday at 10:00.

As she drives back to the house, she wonders if starting over in a new school will be as easy.

— 

But on the day school starts, Tifa wakes up late. She’s not sure if she forgot her alarm or if she slept through it. Not that it matters as she runs around the house to get ready—both options lead to her being late. Tifa curses her long hair as she tries to detangle it, giving up after hitting a mess of knots. As she runs down the stairs, she gathers her hair on one side and weaves a hasty braid. It’ll have to do.

She grabs her backpack and checks that she’s got everything before leaving the house. It’s one of these times where she wishes her father would leave her the car while he’s away. The walk to the school can’t be over twenty minutes, but it feels longer as Tifa’s anxiety rises at the thought of being late. It’s bad enough that she’ll get attention as the new girl—lateness will only make it worse. Once the school comes into view, Tifa slows down, taking the time to even out of her breathing.

There are still students chatting outside, but most of them have gone in the building. Tifa doesn’t waste time; she goes in, finds the way to her assigned locker, then locates her History classroom. The bell rings right as she walks in, and she lets out a relieved sigh. A glance at the blackboard lets her know where to sit. As she twists on her heels to face the class, she freezes, sensing the students’ eyes on her. Whispers and stares convey their curiosity, but no one addresses her as she makes her way to her seat. Tifa keeps her head high, not allowing her discomfort at their scrutiny to show. Thankfully, the teacher arrives, putting an end to her classmates’ inquisitiveness.

Between what appears to be a permanent frown and an irritated twist of his mouth, there’s nothing likeable about her teacher as he introduces himself as Mr Heidegger. Tifa holds in a groan when he calls for the new student to make themselves known. She lifts her hand.

“Tifa Lockhart?” he asks in a curt tone.

“Yes.”

Heidegger doesn’t welcome her or ask her more questions, moving on with the class, which suits Tifa just fine. Ten minutes in, a student walks in, his phone holding his attention. Heidegger falls silent as the newcomer passes him by and heads for the only empty seat.

“You’re late,” the teacher says as the guy sprawls in his chair, not putting the phone away.

To Tifa’s surprise, wariness drips from Heidegger’s voice, almost as if he’s afraid of the student’s reaction. Her eyes flick between the two of them; her classmates seem to do the same, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement running through them. Tifa can only guess it’s not the first time something like this happens.

“Oh, I am?” The guy’s smile is too wide to be friendly. His expression spells out a challenge. “Do you want me to go see the Principal?”

Heidegger sighs, the sound one of resignation. Tifa’s eyes narrow from curiosity; that wasn’t the response she had expected.

“Or are we okay?” the guy asks, injecting innocence in his tone.

Throughout the room, a few students snicker; whispers and muted laughter fills the air. Tifa tampers her reaction, not wanting to let everyone know how taken aback she is. It’s clear the guy’s attitude grates on Heidegger’s nerves—the teacher grits his teeth and glowers at him. But he lets it go and carries on with the class. Anger laces his voice as he starts the lesson, making the words jump and run into each other. He calms down after a few minutes but avoids looking in the guy’s direction.

Tifa taps her pen against her notebook, the gesture an absentminded one. Her eyes keep being drawn to the guy who put his phone down at last, though he isn’t paying mind to the teacher; he doodles on the corner of a page, speaking with the person in front of him. Their voices are quiet, but it doesn’t help Heidegger’s annoyance. Still, the teacher says nothing about it. The guy shows his drawing to the person he was talking to and then sits back. As he does, he runs a hand through his black hair, and his gaze meets Tifa. Only two rows separate them, and Tifa can’t miss the tiniest frown that mars his features—but then he smiles. There’s an edge to it, like he isn’t sure what to think of her, but he’ll welcome her anyway. Something clatters to the floor, bringing Tifa’s attention to it. A student dropped their pencil case. Tifa looks away and back towards the black-haired guy, but he’s on his phone. He doesn’t glance at her again.

When the class ends, Tifa takes her time gathering her things, letting students trickle out of the room so she can blend in with them. As she approaches the door, she realizes the dark-haired guy is in front of her along with a friend. Despite the chatter and yells in the hallway, Tifa is close enough to overhear them.

“—think you could get some for me?”

“Maybe. What if we make it a trade?”

The other guy hesitates, then says, “I’m not sure what I could do.”

“I’ll think of something. Just know you owe me a favor.”

“Alright, deal.” The guys stop. “I’ll text you what I need.”

Tifa has no choice but to go around them. The crowd jostles her, and she bumps shoulders with the black-haired guy. He barely reacts at the disturbance, but then turns when he sees who it was. Their eyes meet for a second before Tifa moves on. She has a class to get to.

“Hey, wait!”

The shout cuts through the hallway’s noise, forcing Tifa to halt and turn. Apprehension rears its head as she takes in the over-interested students watching her and the black-haired guy. People continue to walk around them, but it looks like they slowed down, or perhaps it’s her feeling like time has come to a standstill as she is put on the spot. Though the guy is a mere two meters away, the distance between them appears so much bigger to Tifa.

“Yeah?”

The guy gives her that same smile as he did in class. “Just wanted to say welcome.”

It takes Tifa a second to react, unsure if she’s meant to stay and chat. She settles for a quick, “Thanks,” before leaving him and the curious students behind. There was something odd about this guy, from the attitude he gave the teacher to his conversation with the other guy to the way he spoke to her. She realizes it was the authority emanating from his movements and dripping from his words that stunned her. Nothing about him screamed unfriendly, but there was a certain detachment from the rest of the students coming from him, as if he wasn’t really a part of them. As Tifa slides into her seat for her English class, she waves these thoughts away—there’s no point dwelling on this at the moment. She might never talk to him again.

The remainder of the morning goes by at a slow pace. By the time she is asked to introduce herself for the third time that day, Tifa is fed up, not understanding why they always have to ask her questions about herself when, really, no one cares. The stares she keeps on getting from the students have her recall Yuffie’s remark about the lack of new residents, and Tifa feels eyes on her at her every move. Part of her knows she’s overreacting, longtime introversion rearing its head and distorting the looks she gets. Getting shoved into the spotlight isn’t helping.

Her French teacher—Miss Crescent ( _Mademoiselle Crescent, s’il-vous-plaît!)_ —smiles tightly as Tifa makes her introduction brief and curt but moves on with her class. French isn’t Tifa’s strength, but the subject as taught by Miss Crescent turns out to be more confusing than it should be. Halfway through the class, most students have their heads on their desk. Tifa does her best to stay attentive and take notes, but she soon calls it a day.

Miss Crescent asks a question, jolting Tifa out of her daydreaming. The teacher observes her sleeping students as if a miracle will happen, and her gaze latches on Tifa, who is among the few standing upright.

“ _Alors_?” The teacher looks at the roll call sheet. “Miss Lockhart?”

Tifa’s grip on her pen tightens. This day needs to end. But to her surprise, the guy next to her raises his hand, saving her. His voice is slow and hesitant, and Tifa has a hunch he bullshitted his answer. Miss Crescent’s face falls, and she gives the right answer, then carries on droning about verbs or whatnot. Tifa sulks, getting the impression this school year will drag. She turns to thank her savior.

The guy is tall—even sitting down, she has to tilt her head a bit to see his face, obscured by thick glasses and a mass of long black hair brushing his shoulders.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

His head shifts as if to look at her, but it’s still not enough to discern his features.

“You saved my ass,” she adds when he doesn’t react.

When he shrugs and turns back to the board, Tifa gives up. The interaction—or lack of—doesn’t help her mood. A trickle of anxiety runs through her, her nerves frayed from the way this day has been going.

Class ends a dull twenty minutes later. Tifa jumps to her feet, making the tall guy chuckle.

“In a hurry?”

Tifa slows down on purpose and takes her time to gather her belongings before swiveling to face him. She’s not sure what she had expected, but him being high wasn’t it. A certain tranquility surrounds him, helped by his lazy smile and unfocused eyes. But there’s also a friendliness to his expression that puts Tifa at ease. It allows the admission to tumble from her lips.

“I can’t wait for this day to be over.”

He gives her a long, slow nod as if agreeing. “Welcome to Nibelheim.”

“Sounds fantastic. Thanks.”

“Here to help,” he says with a thumbs up.

They make their way into the mess that is the main hallway. Although she isn’t sure it’s necessary, she feels the need to introduce herself again. “I’m Tifa. In case you didn’t hear earlier.”

“Vincent.”

“Thanks again for the save, Vince.”

He frowns. “Vinc _ent_.”

Tifa grins. “Sure thing, Vince.”

He blinks at her a few times and shakes his head, accepting defeat.

Tifa pinches her lips together. “Can I eat lunch with you and your friends?” Beating around the bush is irrelevant. She refuses to end up the new girl who eats in the washrooms.

There's a moment of hesitation before he says, “It’s just me.”

Unfazed, Tifa asks, “Well, can I eat lunch with just you?”

When his eyes finally focus on her, she realizes he hadn’t expected that. He takes a few seconds to regain his composure, though she’s not sure how much of it is his surprise and how much is the weed. “Uh, yeah. But I don’t eat in the cafeteria.”

“So… where?” Goddamn it, not the washrooms.

Vincent points in the direction of the main doors. “Outside.”

Tifa sags with relief when he doesn’t give the dreaded answer. “That’s perfect,” she says.

Maybe the rest of the day won’t be so bad.

* * *

“Wake up!”

Cloud groans. “Wha—at?”

“It’s time for school!”

Someone jumps on his back, cutting off his air supply.

“God _damn_ it, Denzel,” he wheezes. “You’re way too big.”

His younger brother thrashes around, “Come on, get up, bro!”

Cloud rolls his eyes. Ever since Denzel learned the word _bro_ , it’s all he says. “Alright, alright.”

Before he can move, the covers are ripped off him. Cloud glares at the offender.

“Hello, sunshine!” Aerith sings. “It’s a beauti—”

“Don’t say it.”

But his cousin won’t have any of his bullshit this morning. “It’s a beautiful day,” she keeps on, louder this time, “so get your lazy butt out of bed.”

“Yeah, bro! Get your lazy ass out of bed!”

“Language!” Aerith gasps.

Denzel crosses his arms, still lying askew over his brother’s body. “Zack lets me say what I want.”

Cloud sits up and throws his brother over his shoulder, making him cry out. He gets to his feet, pretending to sag under the ten-year-old’s weight.

“Zack is the last person you should listen to,” Aerith says, following them.

Denzel raises his head. “Even if he’s your future husband?”

Cloud puts his brother down. “Over my dead body,” he mutters as he enters the bathroom. He closes the door, muting the sound of bickering. For a moment, he considers going back to sleep in the bathtub, but then Aerith pounds on the door, yelling, “Don’t spend an hour in there, _bro_.”

Cloud can’t help his smile.

—

He’s gulping down breakfast when they hear a car engine coming close. An excited Denzel gets out of his chair and peers through the kitchen window.

“It’s Zack!”

Cloud frowns. “I hope he had my car repaired.”

“Don’t worry,” Aerith says, waving her hand nonchalantly.

“Don’t worry? Your boyfriend crashed my car!”

She points her spoon at him. “Your best friend crashed your car.”

The door slams shut; a loud, “Hello, little man!” follows before Zack appears in the kitchen doorway, carrying a talkative Denzel in his arms.

Cloud collects the dirty dishes and puts them in the sink. “I hope that was my car I heard.”

Zack smirks. He turns to drop a kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead. “Hey.” Denzel squirms, and Zack lets him go. He squeezes Cloud’s shoulder. “As promised.”

Despite his annoyance, Cloud cracks a smile. “How the hell did you get it repaired so fast, fuck.” Aerith glares at him as she covers Denzel’s ears. Cloud shrugs in apology.

“Had to call in a favor.” Zack winks. “Where’s Elmyra?”

“Mom already left,” Aerith says. “She had to go in early today.”

“Shame.”

At his deadpan tone, Aerith smacks his arm in reproach, and though Zack doesn’t wince, Cloud knows from experience that his cousin packs a punch.

“Okay, little man.” Zack ruffles Denzel’s hair. “Go get your stuff. We’re leaving in five.”

“Yes!” Denzel bounces off, his footsteps echoing as he climbs the stairs.

“Can’t believe he’s excited for school.” Cloud crosses his arms over his chest.

“Unlike some people, he’s got friends.”

“Cute.”

They pile up in Cloud’s fixed car, dropping Denzel at the elementary school, then heading for the high school. The ride is on the silent spectrum, with Aerith stuck to her phone and Zack shutting up for once. Cloud parks next to the main doors in the spot he’s occupied since sophomore year.

Aerith gets out of the car first. “Five bucks says Yuffie and Reno broke up.”

“Five?” Zack scoffs as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Try twenty.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Cloud rolls his eyes though he doesn’t have the heart to tell Aerith the on-and-off couple is in ‘on’ mode, having made-up the preceding night. Yuffie’s volatile nature combined with Reno’s lack of lasting interest in anything but his studies makes for a rather unstable relationship that has been going on for two years now.

The first bell rings as they walk into the school. Cloud makes his way to his locker. “See you guys during lunch.”

“You two have no classes together?”

“Must be Shinra’s idea of a joke.” Zack laughs. “I could ask him to fix it. You’re with Reno for Physics, though.”

“I have Highwind.”

Zack winces. “At least he likes you. Somewhat.”

The second bell rings, and Cloud closes his locker. Aerith and Zack are still chatting in the hall, not looking ready to move anytime soon. Cloud waves at them as he walks to his first class.

His morning is quiet if not boring. Principal Shinra must have made his schedule personally, isolating him from his friends as much as possible. Though Cloud figures it must be Shinra’s equivalent of a joke, perhaps it’ll allow him to concentrate on school for once.

The lunch period nears its end when he decides to go outside for a smoke. Reno ambushes him as he reaches the main doors.

“Yo, Strife!” Reno yells, even though he is a mere two feet away. He wraps an arm around Cloud’s neck, ruffling his hair. Cloud pushes him off.

“Don’t want me messing with the hair?”

“Would you fuck off already?”

Reno mock-gasps. “I just got here!” The few people in the hallway stare, which isn’t unusual when Reno is involved. Cloud has learned to tune their audience out. But this time, someone stands out, catching his eye. Reno calms down as he notices Cloud’s mood change.

“What is it?”

Cloud would have looked away if not for Loz. The girl arguing with him has to be new to Nibelheim.

“Oh, I see,” Reno says with a shit-eating grin, but Cloud ignores him. He tries not to get involved in Loz’s business since, well, he hates the guy—but Loz is known for his temper and aggressive personality. There’s also curiosity at how the new girl will handle the infamous asshole of Nibelheim High.

“I said it was an accident like three times already,” the girl says, throwing her hands in the air.

“You stepped on an entire pack of cigs, sweetheart. You could pay for them at least.”

Cloud can see the girl’s fuse blow at this, like she’s been stretched too thin and Loz’s words are the trigger.

“Fuck you, you dick. Next time watch where you’re going.” She turns on her heels, but Loz catches her arm. Cloud tenses.

“Look, _sweetheart_ , I—”

“Let me go right _now.”_

“You wanna be a bitch, fine.” Loz pushes the girl away. She stumbles but keeps her back straight. “I’ll remember,” he says, backing away.

The girl scoffs, and Cloud does the same.

“Okay, asshole, if you say so,” she calls out as Loz retreats. The moment he disappears into the crowd, she crouches to pick up what must be her belongings scattered over the floor. Cloud considers lending a hand when he spots Vincent coming at her side to help.

And _that_ is Cloud’s cue to leave. Reno lets out a low whistle. Not wanting to linger, Cloud taps him on the shoulder, and they walk for Cloud’s locker.

Reno settles against the locker next to Cloud’s. “Shit, that chick sure knows how to make friends—Loz, then Valentine.” He elbows Cloud. “She was hot, though.”

“Yeah, she was cute,” Cloud says absentmindedly as he gets his stuff for his afternoon classes. It’s not like he hadn’t noticed her looks, but Vincent’s sudden sociability is what stuck with Cloud. Something about seeing him talking or helping anyone feels alien, almost uncomfortable, like digging so deep that you hit rock-bottom and the impact rattles your bones. Cloud chastises himself for even giving a damn. It’s none of his business anymore.

Reno chats as they head for their Physics classroom. Cloud sighs his frustration as they walk inside; he didn’t even get to smoke his cigarette, and now he has to endure Highwind.

“Can’t believe we’re stuck with this dude,” Reno mutters. They sit in the back, near the wall of windows. “He’ll work us to death. You should tell him to cut us some slack.”

Cloud snorts. “You think because I work at his garage he’ll listen to me?”

“Well, he hired you so he has to like you.”

“I don’t think Cid likes anyone but his wife.”

As he finishes his sentence, Cid Highwind walks in, slamming the door behind him. He drops his materials on his desk with too much force before turning to face the class.

“Welcome,” he booms. “Ready to go through hell?”

Silence is his only answer. Highwind laughs and claps the closest student on the back. “Learn to take a joke, will you?”

He moves away. Cloud can hear the guy wheezing from the other side of the room.

“So we’ll start with a knowledge test today,” Highwind announces, and Cloud resists the urge to roll his eyes, something that happens often around Cid. The man takes too much pleasure in traumatizing his students.

Highwind gathers papers, which Cloud guesses are the tests, but suddenly drops them.

“I almost forgot. We have a new student.”

Cloud startles, not having noticed the girl from earlier come in. A quick glance finds her at the front, near the door.

“Get up, Lockhart.”

Not hiding her irritation, the girl gets to her feet, arms crossed over her chest. Sitting on the corner of his desk, Highwind stares at her with what he believes must be a welcoming smile, but it has the opposite effect. Cloud shudders; he knows that smile.

“So, Lockhart, how about an intro?”

The girl bristles but says, “I’m Tifa. Nice to meet you.”

She sits down, and Cloud can’t help his smirk. He hides his mouth with his hand so Cid won’t notice.

“That’s cute, Lockhart. Where did you move from? And get back up.”

Tifa stands up, her expression veering to pure vexation. Poor girl, Cloud thinks; her run-in with Loz, now this.

“Midgar,” is her clipped answer.

Cid nods; it’s hard to say if his interest is genuine or one of his twisted attempts at humor. “Tell us more.”

Even from afar, Cloud can see she is reaching the end of her patience. “Come on, Cid,” he jumps in. Heads turn his way, the students amazed someone would talk back to Highwind, but their attention fades when they see it’s Cloud. “It’s not even funny.”

Cid faces him, his annoyance obvious, though Cloud suspects it has more to do with the use of his first name in front of everyone. Tifa uses the distraction to sit down. An uncomfortable silence takes over, and then, to everyone’s surprise, Highwind laughs.

“Lockhart, you seem to have a knight in shining armor.” He shakes his head, then distributes the tests, chuckling. “Okay everyone, pens out. I better not see a goddamn cell phone.”

Cloud sighs, grateful Cid let it go. He glances Tifa’s way, but her head is down as she reads the questions on the quiz. As if sensing his gaze, she twists her head to meet it, acknowledging him with a quick nod. Cloud does the same before concentrating on the task at hand. But damn, he sucks at anything science-related.

For the next five minutes, Cloud pretends to labor over the test until he grows too bored and heads for Cid’s desk. The teacher doesn’t look up for the book he’s reading.

“Go back to your seat, Strife.” His voice is quiet, a rare occurrence.

“I’m handing in my test,” Cloud replies as softly. “You take things too far, Cid.”

Cid closes the book, giving Cloud’s test his attention. “There’s nothing written on that. You’re gonna fail.”

“Wouldn’t you love that?”

“And see you in tutoring? No way in hell. Go back to your seat.”

Cloud turns around with a shrug, not caring either way. He doesn’t bother filling out the useless piece of paper; he doesn’t know a quarter of the answers, anyway. Cid glares when the allowed time ends, and Cloud hands it in still blank.

His last class for today is English, but he’s not feeling it, already fed up with school after one day. As he walks for the school’s exit, he crosses paths with Principal Shinra, who frowns when he spots him.

“You should be in class,” Shinra says, disapproval and annoyance mixing in his voice. “Can’t you make an effort?”

“That’d make you happy, wouldn’t it?” Cloud can’t help his sharp smile as he passes the Principal by. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He waves over his shoulder, dismissing Shinra’s mutterings. It’s not like the man would have stopped him.

He drives away, at last smoking that fucking cigarette. The elementary school comes into view, and he parks to wait for his brother.

He hasn’t seen Denzel enough this summer with work in the way, and the urge to spend time with him has been getting stronger. As the kids stream out, Cloud gets out of the car, standing near the fence. Denzel spots him in no time, and an ecstatic smile takes over his features as he runs towards his older brother.

Only a year left, Cloud reminds himself, watching Denzel. One year, and then they’ll leave.

He can do this

—


	2. invitation, reputation, decision

**—**

**2.** _invitation, reputation, decision_

—

_September_

—

By the time the first week of school ends, all Tifa wants is to hide away for the weekend—a doomed plan considering she has to be at work for 10:00 the next day. The thought of having a quiet evening comforts her until the house comes into view. She purses her lips at the three cars parked in front. So her dad came back earlier—she can deal with that since they barely speak on a good day. But the guests means socializing. Tifa sighs as she unlocks the door. Time to play the dutiful daughter.

“Tifa?” Brian calls as soon as she steps inside the house.

“Hey, Dad,” she says, injecting cheerfulness in her voice. She has long mastered the routine expected of her whenever they have guests.

A woman mumbles, “Is that your daughter?”. Tifa drops her bag in the entryway and walks into the living room. Her father sits in an armchair, his suit jacket nowhere to be seen; a woman and two men around the same age as Brian sit on the couches. A pie and a box of cupcakes rest on the coffee table, along with the fancy tea set they never use. All of them have teacups and saucers in hand, even her dad, who hates tea. Tifa mobilizes all her willpower not to chuckle as she catches her father’s gaze; Brian’s eyes clearly spell _sit down with us_.

Plastering on a smile, Tifa takes the remaining armchair.

“Hi. I’m Tifa.”

The man on her left is the only one who smiles. “I’m Ted. This is my sister, Linda, and that’s our friend, Randy. We all grew up together.”

Tifa nods, more preoccupied with what she’ll wear for her first day at work than anything else. But then Randy, who frowned when she came in, opens his mouth.

“She’s Teresa’s daughter?”

Linda’s tight-lipped smile tells Tifa everything she needs to know about these people’s opinion of her mother. Though her dimming smile isn’t part of her good daughter act, it fits. She recognizes the question for what it is— _Is she_ your _daughter, Brian?_ Whenever Tifa looks at old photos of her mother, she sees the resemble—she has her mother’s dark hair and heart-shaped face—but there is no denying her eyes are her father’s. Randy’s statement is an insult through and through, from the tone to the way he’d spoken to the question itself.

Tifa winces as her dad puts down his teacup and saucer on the table. Brian dropping his pretense of liking tea doesn’t bode well for his old friends. Her mother isn’t a subject they bring up often, if ever. There is both too much to say and nothing to be said—in the end, they both prefer to live with their own memories. Having no tolerance for people speaking badly of her is one of the few things they agree on.

“Teresa was my wife.” Brian’s voice is quiet with fury, a warning not to be ignored. “Don’t disrespect her.”

Ted laughs, nervousness slipping through. Tea spills over the rim of his cup as he lowers it too fast. “Come on, guys, we spoke about this.” He shifts Tifa’s way. “Sorry about this. We—ah, how should I say… we didn’t get along with your mother.”

Tifa pours herself a cup of tea, letting them sweat a bit. She takes a sip, biting back a curse as she burns her tongue. Her smile is cutting as she takes in Ted’s strained smile; he does what he can to hide his displeasure, and Tifa can’t say if it’s for her mother herself or for Randy bringing the topic up. Probably both, she wagers.

“Okay,” is all she says, not giving a damn about making them feel at ease. They should have known what to expect.

Linda squirms in her seat. Randy’s frown stays, but Tifa has a hunch it’s permanent. There is a brief silence before Brian breaks it. Tifa knows he let it grow on purpose to make his old friends uncomfortable. Good.

“When do you start your job?”

Tifa crosses her legs and falls back in the armchair. “Tomorrow morning.”

Linda clears her throat. Tifa notes her fidgeting hands in her lap and can’t help but experience satisfaction at her unease. “Where do you work?”

They discuss her job for a few minutes, and Tifa wishes they’d drop the fake interest. She sighs when they drift back to their previous conversation, catching up on their years apart. Uninterested, Tifa fishes her cell phone out of her cardigan’s pocket.

 _How long do I have to stay_ , she texts her dad.

Brian’s phone beeps, and from the speed at which he grabs it, Tifa knows he expects it to be work. A smirk curls his lips as he reads her message, and he brings the teacup up to hide it. Well, well, well, it seems her father has a sense of humor.

_15 min_

Tifa puts her phone away; she can do fifteen minutes. She nods and smiles on cue while tuning out Linda’s nasal voice and Randy’s unexpected high-pitched laugh.

“Things have changed,” Brian says, tea long-forgotten. “Our high school days appear tame in comparison.”

His statement, along with Randy’s scoff and Ted’s enthusiastic nod, snap Tifa out of her nail polish musing, and her eyes narrow. She can’t imagine her dad as anything but tame—workaholic Brian Lockhart who forgets birthdays and won’t drink over one glass of wine on the rare special occasions can’t be anything else. A little voice whispers that maybe it wasn’t always the case, and Tifa knows if she digs deep enough, she will unearth memories of simpler, better times. Unbidden, an image surges, one of her father dancing with her on Christmas when she was a child. It’s gone as quickly as it came. Tifa shakes herself out of her musings. She prefers the past to stay where it belongs—locked away.

“They get away with everything these days, it’s ridiculous,” Linda says with a grimace that tells of her disgust. “Shelly started her second year of high school, and the things she tells me are sometimes ridiculous.”

Tifa visualizes a tiny-Linda reporting military-style to adult-Linda and stifles a laugh.

“There was a huge fight in the school’s field two weeks ago, and nobody got arrested or punished.”

Tifa hides a yawn behind her hand. Are the fifteen minutes over?

“Not to mention the parties—”

She rolls her eyes. It’s time to leave. Once Randy finishes with his party tirade, Tifa gets up and makes an excuse to go upstairs. Though she knows she isn’t fooling her dad, he nods while the others bid her a half-hearted good evening. Fatigue overwhelms her as she enters her room, and she falls on her bed. The adults’ voices drift up the stairs, their laughter echoing in the house.

Tifa hates this house; there’s nothing right about it. Not the lack of life or the spaciousness that can’t be filled. She knows it’s not that different from the condo they had in Midgar, where she was also left on her own most of the time. But there, she didn’t feel oppressed by the empty space—it wasn’t big enough for her to realize just how alone she was. In Nibelheim, where she knows next to no one and the house overflows with the voices of strangers, she recognizes that loneliness grips and twists her heart.

Though the sound is muted by her closed door, she hears her father’s laugh. The flash of memory she saw earlier comes back, bearing a wave of nostalgia. It’s a vague souvenir—blurred shapes and hazy colors blending together. But it’s the sentiment that stayed more than the image; happiness and excitement, love freely given and returned. And it hurts, Tifa realizes, it hurts to think back to her childhood, to when her mother was alive and her father smiled a real smile. Despite all the troubles they had, they always made sure not to burden her. Ten years later, the memories are tainted, but it doesn’t strip the fleeting joy they bring.

Still, there’s something about being in Nibelheim that makes everything worse—this is where her parents grew up, where they met. It’s from where they eloped, too, and Tifa would expect to feel a certain fondness. But all she can remember are the scathing comments about her mother, the whispers at the funeral; being in Nibelheim just reminds Tifa she never knew her mother, not really. She can’t reconcile the gentle, doting woman she knew with the distant, cheating woman people said she was. As a child, Tifa listened to them and cried, unconsciously absorbing the poison seeping from their words until they infected the sanctity of her memories. And now, the whispers come back whenever her mind wanders into the past.

Tifa lets the adults’ voices fill the emptiness until she can’t take it anymore. She grabs her phone and gets up, heading back downstairs. Her father doesn’t have time to ask her where she’s going before she says, “I’m going for a walk,” and exits the house. Once outside, the fresh air clears her head a little; so does the distance she puts between herself and the house.

She heads towards the high school, not knowing where else to go. There are still people on the grounds, and she finds a soccer field where what she guesses is the guys’ team practicing. Tifa makes for the bleachers, ignoring everyone she crosses paths with, and sits down at the top.

The shouts from the team and the chatter from groups of friends sitting a few rows away wash over her; it all becomes white noise as she watches them. She checks her phone out of habit, but there are no new notifications, no messages from her friends in Midgar. No actual surprise there—Tifa had never expected them to keep regular contact with her. At this point, she hates the idea of being the one to reach out. Tifa stares at the screen a moment too long before putting the phone away. She startles when she notices the person standing before her.

“Fuck, you scared me.”

Vincent sits down on her right. “My bad,” he says. It’s a reflexive apology if she’s ever head one. “I thought you went home?”

Though it’s only been five days since they met, Tifa is at ease around him, his calm demeanor a welcome change from the way her mind whirs at times.

“I did,” she says. “Decided to take a walk, and I didn’t know where to go.”

He hums as he cleans his glasses with his shirt. “Well, there aren’t many places to go in this hellhole.”

A soft snort escapes Tifa. “You really don’t like this town, do you?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows she’s said the wrong thing. It’s in the subtle tension of his body and the way his eyes stray down as if fleeing hers—though she has no clue why, she knows better than to push. It’s not a secret Vincent doesn’t have many—or even any—friends at school; after all, he told her himself on the first day. She figures it might have to do with that.

“I don’t either,” she adds to lighten the atmosphere, “It sucks, like, really bad. Fucking terrible. Boring as hell.”

Vincent puts his glasses back on and gives her an amused look, understanding what she’s trying to do.

“Should I continue?”

“No need, I think you worked out Nibelheim pretty well already.”

Tifa smiles. “So, there has to be _at least_ one place we can hang out other than the school?”

“Well,” Vincent says, scratching his cheek in contemplation, “there is an ice cream parlor about ten minutes away.” He glances at her, spelling out his hopes.

“Subtle.”

He shrugs. “You wanna go or not?”

Seeing as her quiet evening already went out of the window, Tifa nods. They go down the bleachers and towards the parking lot. As they’re about to climb into his old, beaten-up car, Tifa spots the black-haired guy who welcomed her sitting at two picnic tables with some friends. As if sensing her gaze on him, he looks up from whatever he was reading; Tifa turns away before their eyes make contact.

“You getting in today, or what?” Vincent calls from inside the car.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, dismissing her stray thoughts. She gets into the car, and the music from the radio fills the air as they drive off.

—

As the second week creeps along, Tifa can breathe at last. The new girl wave faded soon enough, but most students still keep their distance. There’s something weird about the uniformity of their unfriendliness, but she tries not to let it get to her, aware anxiety at having moved might amplify her feelings. As the days go by, it becomes easier to do so.

“Pay attention, Lockhart! You’re drooling.”

Highwind’s voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she sits up straight reflexively. Someone on the other side of the classroom snickers. Tifa directs her glare at her teacher’s back as he writes instructions on the board. That he guessed she’d been daydreaming isn’t even surprising—the man has a sixth sense for students not paying attention. Tifa discreetly wipes her chin. Damn him, she hadn’t been drooling.

“Alright, listen up.”

Tifa swallows down the ‘Yes, sir!’ threatening to come out.

“Here’s your group assignment due next Wednesday at the start of class.”

Highwind drops a pile of papers on the first desk of each row. The students don’t let their displeasure show; Tifa would have expected it had their teacher been anyone else. Instead, they pass the papers around in silence.

“Before you jump out of your seats, I’ve already assigned your partners.”

This time, there are some dismayed groans, but Tifa rejoices. She won’t have to go through the painful process of asking people she doesn’t know if they want to be her teammate. As she gets her assignment, she breezes through the instructions while keeping an eye on her teacher as he explains the details. It’s simple enough; all they have to do is solve a series of problems.

After a round of questions, Highwind lists the teams. He calls her halfway through, teaming her up with someone named Maurice. Her eyes find a guy’s on the opposite side of the classroom. He waves, and she hesitates before waving back. He grins at her before turning to his friend sitting in front of him. Tifa recognizes him as the blonde guy who intervened for her in Highwind’s class on her first day. Maurice laughs at something his friend says, drawing a scolding from Highwind.

Tifa takes in Maurice’s easy smile and playful eyes as he raises his hands up to plead innocence to the teacher. A complete troublemaker, she thinks, and a sharp contrast to his friend. With his striking features, she’d consider him good-looking if he didn’t look so aloof and grumpy. Highwind glares at Maurice one last time before telling the class to pair up. Unsure if she should stay put or get up, Tifa takes her time gathering her things. A glance in the guys’ direction tells her Maurice is waiting; the other guy left. She makes her way over and plops down in the vacant seat.

“Hey,” she says. “Maurice, right?”

The guy winces. “Nobody but Highwind and my father call me that.”

Tifa tilts her head to the side. “Am I just supposed to know what to call you?”

He blinks as if taken aback, and Tifa refrains from rolling her eyes, hardly believing he could be so self-absorbed that he’d expect her to know this when she had no idea he existed five minutes ago. But then his expression clears.

“Oh, right. New girl. I forgot. Just call me Reno,” he says with a grin.

“Okay, Reno. So how should we do this?”

They go over the assignment together, and Tifa gets over her first impression of him. Reno is smart and doesn’t hesitate to take the lead for the project. She lets him when it becomes obvious he’s more comfortable with physics than she is. Once they’ve decided who will do which question, he falls back into his chair.

“Piece of cake,” he says, crossing his arms.

Tifa huffs, her pen tapping against the desk. “For you, maybe. I might need your help with question three.”

Reno shakes his head and waves his hand around in dismissal. His grin turns mischievous.

“Forget that. How do you feel about a party?”

She gives him a side-glance. “Depends.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He waggles a finger at her. “Don’t tell me you would refuse a good time?”

With little heat, Tifa pushes his hand down, making him chuckle. “Details first.”

“Smart.” He winks. “It’s a bonfire we’re having next Friday. Nothing too big. Give me your number, I’ll text you the details, and then you can decide if you wanna come. What do you say?”

For a moment, Tifa hesitates. It’s not the thought of going to a party that bothers her—it’s the idea of not knowing anyone there. She has a hunch Vincent won’t want to go. But this is an opportunity to get to know other people, and she’d be dumb to let it go.

“Alright,” she says.

Without any subtlety, Reno takes out his phone and programs her number in. Tifa’s eyebrows go up in surprise. Not even two full weeks in, and she already knows Highwind has no tolerance for cellphones in class.

“Isn’t Highwind going to strangle you if he sees that?”

Reno shrugs at the idea. “Probably.” Still, he doesn’t put it away, focusing on typing his message.

As if on cue, Tifa senses a presence behind her, and a shadow falls over the desk. “Uh-oh,” she says. Despite her best effort, a sliver of mirth slips through her voice at Highwind’s impeccable timing.

“What’s that you’re holding, _Maurice_?” Highwind reaches out a hand expectantly. “Looks like a goddamn phone to me.”

Reno looks up at last. Though he plasters on a charming smile, Tifa can see the apprehension in his eyes. “No clue what you’re talking bout, sir.”

He tries to hide the phone, but Highwind isn’t having any of that. “Don’t waste my time, Maurice,” he snaps.

With a grimace, Reno locks the screen and drops the phone in Highwind’s hand, who pockets it and goes back to his desk. Tifa chuckles as the teacher keeps on glaring at Reno as he takes his seat.

“Awn, shit. What a bitter old man,” Reno says a little too loudly for anyone to believe the comment is casual.

If Highwind hears him, he doesn’t react, but the nearby students send Reno knowing glances. Like with the black-haired guy, Tifa can guess this isn’t the first incident of its kind. Still, Reno says nothing more on the matter, and they resume working on their assignment.

Tifa feels the weight of Highwind’s stare until class ends. As they gather their things, Highwind calls for Reno to stay; he makes a face at her.

“Good luck,” she says drily as she gets up.

“Nice knowing you.” Reno salutes as he goes to face Highwind.

Tifa shakes her head as she exits the room, a smile playing at the tip of her mouth as Highwind’s voice echoes all the way into the hall.

—

“So will you be going?” Tifa asks as she takes her jacket out of her locker.

Vincent leans against the locker next to hers as he people-watches.

“Go where?

“Did you hear anything I said?” She shrugs on the jacket. “This Reno dude said there’s a bonfire thing next Friday. It’s supposed to be a small gathering.”

“And you got invited.”

“And he texted me saying I can bring friends.”

“Well, do that.”

“Vince,” she says with a note of impatience, “you know you’re my only friend here.”

Vincent nods as if he agrees, but she has a hunch he’s just lost in his head.

“Come on, I won’t know anyone over there.”

At this, he sighs and looks at her at last. Even though Tifa knows she won’t win this fight, hope flares up.

“I’m not going.”

She goes to push her point but stops when she notices him shuffling his feet and hunching forward as if to hide from something.

“Seriously, Vince,” she says in the gentlest voice she can muster. “Why won’t you come?”

But Vincent’s attention latches onto something over her head. Tifa twists around to see a slender girl with a long braid heading in their general direction. The girl focuses on her phone, but as she passes them, she halts and puts her phone down. Tifa doesn’t miss the strange looks thrown their way from the few students left in the hallway.

“Hey, Vincent. How was your summer?”

Vincent nods, his eyes focusing anywhere else other than the girl. His answer is a mumbled, “The usual.”

“That’s good.” She smiles with a certain wistfulness. “If you want to know how he’s—”

“Don’t bother.” The bite in Vincent’s voice surprises Tifa.

The girl lifts a shoulder as if to say ‘your loss’.

“See you around.” She walks away, already back on her phone.

Tifa lets the silence grow, knowing she shouldn’t pry, but her curiosity gets the better of her.

“Ex-girlfriend?”

Vincent snorts. “Hell no.” When she stays quiet, he adds, “She used to be a good friend of mine.”

“What do you think she wanted?”

She closes her locker, and he takes it as a signal to stride towards the exit. Tifa follows, trying to keep up with his long steps; he slows once he notices.

“Aerith is a kind soul. She just wanted to ask how I’m doing.”

“If she’s so nice, why aren’t you friends anymore?”

“God, you’re nosy.” He holds the door open for her. “Her cousin and I had a fight.”

Tifa almost keeps on prying but decides against it. Because of Vincent’s relaxed demeanor, his newfound agitation shines through easily. He fidgets, shoving his hands in his pockets, then taking them out; he fiddles with his keys and avoids her eyes. She can see it’s better not to push.

“Oh, okay,” she says, her voice coming out softer than intended. “Do you want to do something or head home?”

Vincent inhales, then exhales. “I'll go home.”

“I got homework to do, anyway.” Tifa purses her lips, her displeasure overplayed to get his attention off their previous conversation. “I hate Heidegger.”

He smiles at this. Truly, it’s nothing more than a hint, but it lights up his features. She gets the impression he doesn’t smile often, and, as she takes in the unsympathetic looks people throw them, she can’t help but wonder why.

* * *

Highwind had to be absent on the day they had to hand in their assignment—Cloud just knows Cid did it on purpose, making it so they’d complete the work for today and end up having to end it in on Friday. For his part, Cloud is glad—it’s the perfect time to take a nap. He settles into a chair in the library and looks around, noticing five other students from Highwind’s class. While the students were told they have a study period instead of the class, most of them disappeared who-knows-where, Reno among them. Good, that means he can sleep in peace. He lays his head down on his crossed arms and brings his sweatshirt’s hood up to ward off the chilly of the air conditioning.

He dozes off, only to startle when people sit down at his table. Cloud burrows further into the crook of his elbow, annoyed that they couldn’t choose another spot. He’s half-asleep when one of them drops something on the ground. Frustrated, Cloud raises his head, rubbing his eyes. There’s a skinny dude across from him, and the new girl on his right.

The guy blanches at the sight of a disgruntled Cloud; he picks up his stuff and changes tables. Good riddance. Tifa watches him go with a frown before turning back to Cloud. She tilts her head to the side like she’s deciphering a puzzle.

“I wouldn’t say you’re that scary,” she whispers.

Cloud stares at her, taken aback. “Do I look like I’m up for a talk?” he whispers back.

“So far I’ve never seen you ‘up for a talk.’” Goddamn, she even uses air quotes. “And I see you three times a week in Highwind’s class.”

To his dismay, he finds himself awake. “Listen—”

“Tifa,” she interrupts.

“What?”

“It’s my name.”

“Yeah, I know what your name is, _Tifa,”_ he grinds out, getting annoyed. “I just want to take a fucking nap.”

He can't have been clear enough because she shifts her chair a little closer. “Why did that guy leave?”

“Seriously? You’re gonna keep talking?”

Tifa shrugs, but there’s an underlying edge to her casual gesture. “Give me a break. For some reason, no one talks to me.”

Cloud groans, falling back in his chair. He debates telling her that being friends with Vincent Valentine is a definite way of making sure no one talks to you but decides against it. Vincent is in his top three ‘not to be discussed’ topics.

“That’s just your new girl anxiety speaking,” he says, his tone coming out too wry for his taste. Still, he doesn’t take it back, annoyance at being woken up running through him.

“Rude.” Tifa scoffs. “You really are as grumpy as you look.”

“Rude,” he mimics, even if he knows it’s childish. “Can’t you let me _sleep_?”

Tifa unlocks her phone’s screen and turns it so he can see the time. “We have ten minutes left. Happy napping.”

His patience degenerates, and Cloud stays silent to keep it under check. He considers leaving when she speaks again.

“Are you going to the bonfire on Friday?”

For a second, he hesitates, his initial exasperation waning as he takes in her curious expression and the perceptiveness in her eyes. And he can tell she knows people have been keeping their distance for a reason. Though he refuses to explain the why of it, a part of him experiences responsibility for her isolation from other students. Cloud sighs and bids farewell to his last minutes of sleep.

“Did Reno invite you?”

She nods. “First thing he said to me. After telling me not to call him Maurice.”

“Typical.”

Cloud throws a glance in the librarian’s direction; she doesn’t appear bothered by their murmuring. He focuses back on Tifa, who does that head tilt again. Reno’s words about her being attractive come back, and he takes in her wide, warm eyes and dark hair, her slender but curvy body. Too bad she’s friends with Vincent.

She keeps silent for a few minutes, and Cloud figures she’s had enough of small talk when she looks his way again. “What’s your name?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile. He hasn’t had to introduce himself to someone his age ever since Zack moved to Nibelheim years ago.

“Cloud Strife.”

A quick check of his phone tells he has unread messages from Zack and he opens them, almost missing Tifa’s question.

“So, are you gonna explain why that guy ran away?”

Distracted by his phone, Cloud says the first thing that comes to mind, “You’ll know soon enough.”

Why would Zack ask him to check in with Rufus suddenly? He types back a quick _did something happen_ before realizing Tifa has fallen silent. He tears his eyes away from the phone. Tifa’s expression turned cautious, like she’s waiting for the punchline to a joke that never comes. He clears his throat, wishing he could take his previous words back.

“My friends and I kind of have a—reputation, I guess. That’s all.”

The bell rings. He stays put for a moment, expecting Tifa to pry after his last statement, but she gathers her stuff, gets up, and looks down at him.

“Just so you know, this ‘reputation’ thing? It makes you sound like a tool. Thanks for the talk.”

Tifa twists on her heels and exits the library without a backward glance. Frozen in his seat, Cloud watches her go. A quiet laugh escapes him.

“It fucking does,” he says to no one.

—

As the day ends, Cloud makes his way to the picnic tables his friends always claim when they want to hang out after school. Yuffie is the only one missing when he arrives. Aerith sits cross-legged on top of a table, doing her nails, while Zack and Reno sit at the other, immersed in what appears to be Biology homework. Cloud rolls his eyes at their diligent studying.

“Where’s Yuffie?” Cloud says as a greeting. “She’s the one who told me to come here.”

“She’s on her way,” Reno replies while browsing through his textbook.

Cloud catches Zack’s amused glance. For Yuffie Kisaragi, ‘on her way’ can mean anywhere from five to thirty minutes. He sits down on top of the table next to his cousin, now humming as she admires her newly painted nails. The bright pink color suits her.

“Nice,” he says.

“Thank you.” Aerith beams at him.

“So,” Zack says, smirking, “you excited for Friday?”

Cloud groans. “I’m not a fan of these things.”

“It’s just a small bonfire.” Reno still focuses on his notes as he gives Cloud the finger. “Grow up, Strife.”

“He _really_ hates socializing,” Aerith joins in.

“Not true. I talked to someone today.”

“We don’t count,” Zack says.

Cloud points at him. “It was the new girl.”

Reno’s and Aerith’s heads snap up at this. Zack’s smirk turns wicked.

“Dude, you spoke to a _girl_?”

“You make me sound terrible,” Cloud says with an exasperated sigh.

Aerith pats him on the shoulder, trying not to mess up her nails. “I’m sure she’s the one who made the first move.” When Cloud doesn’t deny it, she giggles. “Told you.”

Yuffie’s arrival saves him from answering. She dumps her bag on the ground and slams Reno’s textbook shut.

“Seriously?”

Yuffie gives him a look saying that, yes, she is serious, then turns to face the rest of them.

“How do guys feel about some fresh blood?”

Cloud closes his eyes, guessing where she’s going.

“What do you mean?” Aerith asks.

“You all know there’s a new girl, right? Right, of course you do. I feel a little sorry that no one befriends her because of Vincent.” Yuffie crosses her arms. “Don’t you?”

Everyone looks at Zack; his eyebrows go up. “I see.”

Yuffie huffs. “And what do you see exactly?”

“Well, have any of you talked to her? Other than Cloud’s five seconds conversation.”

“She’s my partner in Physics,” Reno speaks up, finally tearing his eyes away from his notes. “She’s cool.”

“And what are we supposed to offer her? Half-assed friendship to make her feel better?”

Zack’s question hangs in the air for a second. Though it would sound harsh to anyone, for them it’s nothing more than a reality check. It reminds Cloud they only have each other to rely on; someone coming in from the outside isn’t a good idea. He nods his agreement. “She asks a lot of questions.”

Yuffie throws her hands up in the air. “I’m not saying we should make her a friendship bracelet. She looks lonely,” she adds. “I just think we should give her a tour, introduce her to people. Give her a chance. It’s not—I mean, it’s not _our_ fault everyone keeps away, but if we can help, I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”

Zack rubs a hand through his hair, a telltale sign he’s pondering something. He turns towards his girlfriend. “What do you think?”

Aerith shrugs. “Yuffie’s right.”

Zack’s eyes shift to Cloud in a silent question. There are a lot of answers Cloud could have chosen. What about the fact that Tifa seems nosy as hell? Or that befriending her might mean run-ins with Vincent? Or that they’d have to lie to her the entire time?

“It’s fine,” is all he says.

Yuffie claps her hands. “It’s decided. Reno says she’s coming Friday, so we should get to know her then.”

Cloud shakes his head as the others drift towards a new topic. He ignores Zack’s pointed stare, knowing they’ll discuss this when they are alone. For now, he swallows down his doubts and pretends they made the right decision.

—


	3. a call, a bonfire, a lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!
> 
> Alright, I'm sorry about the delay on this! I've been working on A Sea of Silence a lot, so I haven't had that much time for other projects. But I've been wanting to update this one for a few weeks. So here we are!
> 
> A quick note: "Ne t'en fais pas" translates to "Don't worry about it".
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by me finally deciding to post a chapter that's not 5k+. We are broadening our horizons, folks.

—

**3.** a _call, a bonfire, a lie_

—

_September_

_—_

For what feels like the thousandth time since her shift started, Tifa checks the clock on the computer; the possibility of dying from boredom has never seemed so real. Mademoiselle has an average of one customer per hour, who tend to peek inside out of curiosity and leave within minutes. As usual, her boss holed herself up in the back store, chattering on the phone.

The time on the computer monitor mocks her—19:41. Only three minutes since her last round of the store. Everything is folded since nobody came in to unfold anything. Next week, she’ll bring her homework or a book. The chances of her boss noticing are slim to none.

Tifa drums her fingers on the counter and lets out a sigh. As the days went by, she ended up looking forward to Reno’s bonfire tonight, which isn’t helping the time go by. She can only hope she will get to meet new people. So far, the number of students who approached her can be counted on one hand. Either these people have a weird hang-up about fresh faces or something else is going on. She can’t tell what it could be, though, and that makes it all the more frustrating.

Her eyes search the store for anything that might have gone amiss in the last two minutes. As she goes to grab her phone, a customer strides in. To her surprise, Tifa recognizes her—it’s her French teacher, Miss Crescent. Tifa holds in a snort—of course she’d shop at a store named Mademoiselle.

“Welcome.”

Miss Crescent raises her head, smiling at the familiar face. “Miss Lockhart. How are you doing?”

Tifa busies herself by organizing clothes no one touched by size.

“Not bad. And you can call me Tifa.”

“ _D’accord_ , Tifa. So, do you enjoy working here?” Miss Crescent browses through a rack of dresses.

Tifa peeks in the direction of the back store. “It’s alright.”

Miss Crescent laughs, the sound twinkling and amused. “You can tell me. I worked here during my last year of high school.”

“It’s... uneventful,” Tifa says in a sigh, her unease vanishing

“Why don’t you help me choose a dress for a date tomorrow, then?”

Relieved to have something to do, Tifa walks over to look at the dresses; she rummages through the rack until a royal blue one catches her eyes. The beading around the neckline is outdated, and the length is on the conservative side, but she has a hunch Miss Crescent will like it.

“What about this?” Tifa holds out the dress. “I think it’d be great with your hair.”

Miss Crescent’s smile returns. “You’re right. It’s very pretty.”

As Tifa turns the dress around to display the back, she bites her bottom lip, curiosity overtaking her; her teacher’s date is none of her business. Vincent had a point; she _can_ be nosy. Her hesitation must show because Miss Crescent’s eyes sparkle with laughter.

“You look like you want to ask something.”

“Sorry,” Tifa says with an apologetic glance. “I was just curious where you’re going for your date?”

The light-heartedness Miss Crescent had been displaying before morphs to gloominess in a flash. “Corel.” Her gaze focuses past Tifa’s shoulder. “Nibelheim is so small, and everyone gossips. I prefer keeping my life private.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dreading the awkwardness she senses coming, Tifa leads them towards the fitting room. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“ _Ne t’en fais pas_ , Tifa. I understand your curiosity, and I know it was sincere.”

Tifa hangs the dress in the cabin and steps back to make space for her teacher to go in. “I was still prying. Sorry about that.”

Miss Crescent puts down her purse on the stool in front of her cabin’s mirror. Her fingers brush against the silky material of the dress. “Don’t worry. It’s just that… I’ve had enough of gossip after what happened with Shelke, you know? I’d rather avoid it any way I can.”

Whatever happened weighs Miss Crescent down enough that her shoulders drop, her words ringing clear with sadness. Tifa knows a signal when she sees one, so she says, “Tell me if there’s anything else. I’m sure the dress will look lovely.”

“ _Merci_.”

Tifa busies herself by wandering the store, checking for more dresses that might suit Miss Crescent. She knows better than to ask who Shelke is and what happened, even if the urge is strong. The mention had been so casual, like Miss Crescent had expected Tifa to already be aware. And it’s not the first time something like this has happened since she got here—Reno’s _don’t call me Maurice_ fixation, that Cloud guy and his ‘reputation’ comment, and now the Shelke reference. As she smoothes a hand over a folded sweater to remove the creases, Tifa wonders if she can get the answers out of Vincent—if what happened is such common knowledge, then there’s no harm in asking.

Tifa turns towards the cabins as she hears the curtain being pulled back, masking her musings with a smile. Miss Crescent holds the dress tight against her chest.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, thank you. You were right, it looks great with my hair.”

They make small talk while Tifa rings the purchase, but it’s clear the allusion to Shelke sapped Miss Crescent’s good mood; minute creases mar her forehead, and her eyes have lost their shine.

Tifa hands her the bag. “I hope everything goes great tomorrow.”

“ _Merci_ , Tifa.” Miss Crescent’s smile is weary, strained. “You’re very kind.”

She leaves the store with a wave. As she disappears past the corner, faint music echoes through the store. Tifa looks at the back store, expecting her boss to be the culprit, but when the melody stops only to start again at once, Tifa realizes it’s a ringtone. Miss Crescent must have forgotten her phone in the fitting room. Tifa walks over and pushes the curtain back, spotting the phone on the stool. Her stomach drops as she glimpses the screen.

VINCENT V CALLING

The phone stops ringing, but Tifa stands frozen. Vincent V? As in her friend Vincent Valentine? Why would he call their French teacher, not to mention the late hour? It has to be another person—Vincent isn’t an uncommon name. But the initial next to his name—

There’s no reason to overthink, or so Tifa drills into her head as she grabs the phone and hurries towards the entrance right as Miss Crescent walks back in. Her teacher sucks in a breath when she spots the phone in Tifa’s hand. Her reaction twists Tifa’s stomach. She wills herself to act casual as her pulse drums in her neck, apprehension rising.

“Hey, I got your phone.” She forces a smile. “I was about to run out after you.”

Miss Crescent does what she can to school the panic in her eyes; her hand tightens on the strap of her handbag. “Thank you.” She takes the phone, almost snatching it out of Tifa’s hand.

Curiosity wars with apprehension within Tifa as she debates mentioning the call. It’s as Miss Crescent makes to turn around that Tifa caves.

“You got a call. That’s how I found it.”

Tension overtakes her teacher, and she tries not to let it show, smoothing imaginary wrinkles on her skirt in an effort to appear nonchalant—too bad her movements are awkward, almost brusque. “Did you see who it was?”

Tifa’s stilted smiled doesn’t waver as she lies. “No, sorry. I didn’t check, and it stopped before I found it.”

The way Miss Crescent’s body sags tells Tifa enough. “Thank you again.” Her teacher immediately puts the phone away in her bag.

“No problem.”

Miss Crescent leaves for good, and Tifa drops the sunny act. Though all she wants is to rush behind the counter and text Vincent, she reins it in, unable to forget about Miss Crescent’s nervousness. From her reaction, it’s not a stretch to assume Tifa must know the caller, and that their connection to her teacher is a secret. And there can’t be that many Vincent V in a town like Nibelheim.

Done with pretending to work, Tifa goes back behind the counter. Her fingers hover over her phone, Vincent’s message thread starting back at her. She can’t just…ask, can she? Tifa shakes her head at the downward spiral of her thoughts—she’s making assumptions with little to no proof. Maybe the dynamics are different in a small town like Nibelheim; it has to be something like this. It has to because she can’t accept the idea that Vincent and Miss Crescent might be involved.

It can’t be.

That’s what she tells herself over and over again for the rest of her shift. As she walks to her father’s car, she pushes the thoughts away, not wanting them to drag her down for the rest of the night. Since the bonfire is at a lake on the outskirts of town, she’d asked to borrow her Dad’s car. Brian had been in a foul mood because of work; he’s said yes without looking at her and gone into his office. Tifa hadn’t let it bother her; she’d grabbed the keys and left for her job. His preoccupied mind typically meant he wouldn’t notice anything she’d do, too busy caring about his job.

It nears 22:00 when she gets there. As she goes to exit the car, Tifa hesitates and pulls her hand back from the handle. The impression of being avoided hasn’t faded, and the prospect of spending the evening in a corner alone isn’t at all appealing. But she reminds herself she knows someone—Reno invited her, and maybe he’ll introduce her to some of his friends. It’s not like she’ll ever meet new people by hiding in the car. She takes a deep breath and walks out, heading for the tiny beach.

Music greets her as she gets close. Tifa vaguely recognizes faces, having seen them at school. She ignores the confounded looks thrown her way, intent on finding Reno. Her anxiety builds as he’s nowhere to be seen; Tifa tries not to let it show while she walks around, but the scrutiny of the other students makes it difficult. A boisterous laugh grabs her attention; it comes from the edge of a wooded area—and she sighs in relief as she spots Reno’s red hair. One guy surrounding him sees her approach first; the glint of curiosity in his eyes annoys Tifa more than it should, but she keeps her gaze on Reno and taps on his shoulder. He turns around, still focusing on his conversation and not paying her any real mind.

“Hi,” Tifa says, making sure to speak loudly.

Her greeting stops him in his babbling, and he grins when he realizes who spoke. “Tifa! Glad to see you made it.”

Tifa manages a smile, and she hopes he doesn’t notice the tightness of it. “Glad to be here.” Burrowing a hand in her jacket’s pocket, she shows him the six-pack of beer she brought. “I wasn’t sure if I should bring something.” Tifa glances at his friends, noting surprise; she widens her smile, knowing it’s not what they expect.

Reno laughs, gesturing at her with his own bottle. “Good call.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders to steer her towards the fire. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people.”

Tifa bites back her excitement as he halts before a girl and a guy sitting in camping chairs. The girl is familiar—the one from the mall, Tifa realizes, though she can’t remember what her name is. But it’s the dark-haired guy who draws her attention—she recognizes him from her class with Heidegger—from that time he welcomed her. His blue eyes study her, alight with curiosity and what she thinks is a touch of wariness. Tifa stares right back, not willing to be thrown off balance. But it only makes him chuckles, and he gives her a dazzling smile.

“Hi, Tifa,” he says, not moving from his seat.

“Hi!” The girl points at herself. “Remember me?”

“I saw you at the mall, right?” Tifa hesitates for a second before adding, “I don’t remember your name though.”

“That’s okay! I’m Yuffie. Did you end up getting a job?”

“Yeah, at Mademoiselle.” Tifa shrugs at Reno’s skeptical look. “It’s boring, but it’s a job. I’m not gonna complain.”

“You’re a better person than I am,” Reno says, moving his arm away but staying close. “I can’t stand being bored.” There’s no missing the disgust coating the last word.

Yuffie rolls her eyes. “And yet all you do is study.”

“ _All_ I do? You wound me.” Reno makes a show of clutching his heart.

“You ditched me to study for Chemistry!”

He waves his hand around to dismiss her words. “But I got a perfect grade.”

Tifa’s eyebrows go up in a mix of amusement and surprise when Yuffie says, “You’re a dick. We’re done.”

“Fine.” Reno shrugs. “Now I can focus on getting a better grade in English.”

The black-haired guy sighs as he scrolls through his phone. “Couldn’t you guys have lasted one more week? Now I owe Aerith forty bucks.”

He pouts as he types something, and Tifa has a hunch he’s keeping a record; his comment made it seem like Yuffie and Reno breaking up is recurrent. But it’s really his mention of Aerith that interests her, and she wonders if these people used to be friends with Vincent as well.

Yuffie snaps a scathing reply at her now ex-boyfriend, who seeks help from the black-haired guy, and Tifa feels out of place. There’s something about their dynamic that makes her uncomfortable—it’s the easiness and honesty flowing between them, she thinks, like they live in their own world, and nothing can come in between them. It makes her debate whether she should stay or go; her shuffling feet don’t go unnoticed by Reno, and he stops bickering with Yuffie.

“Sorry, Tifa. Yuffie and I get heated sometimes.” He winks. “By the way, the lazy ass is Zack Fair.”

Zack lifts his water bottle in acknowledgment, eyes still on his phone. Tifa puts down the beer she brought on the ground. Ever since arriving in Nibelheim, she’s heard his name in passing several times—but she had thought little of it, figuring he was one of those popular types you find in every school. Now that she’s met him—actually met him—something feels off about that assumption, like she’s only scratching the surface.

“So _you’re_ Zack. I’ve heard of you.”

Her statement doesn’t faze him—if anything, his smile gets brighter. “I’m pretty well known around here. All good, I hope?”

Tifa makes a show of contemplating his question. Nothing she overheard was bad—weird maybe, or even a little shady, but not bad. She remembers how casually Zack had told another guy he owed him a favor on her first day. There had been something about his tone, almost like he _wanted_ people to owe him.

Despite all this—or maybe because of it—all she does is shrug and say, “It was interesting.”

To her right, Reno mumbles something inaudible, and Tifa lets it go, keeping her focus on Zack.

He chuckles as if she made a joke without meaning to. “I imagine, yeah.” Zack gestures at the closest chair in a wordless invitation.

Tifa sweeps the crowd with a glance before taking the seat. The novel way people watch her strikes her—if before the looks were apathetic or unsure, now they have a glint of warmth and curiosity. Some girls chatting not far away give her small smiles; it’s the most welcome by the students she’s felt since starting school. Tifa swallows her confusion, concentrating on the people she’s with. Yuffie and Reno are back to arguing, but Zack’s eyes haven’t left her. Tifa tries not to seem affected by the change of attitude towards her, but the tension of her body gives her away; she attempts to relax and lean in the chair.

“What do you think of Nibelheim so far?” he asks.

It’s the genuine interest in his voice that convinces her to answer truthfully. “It sucks.”

Zack laughs, a grin lighting his features; it wipes away the previous wariness he’d been displaying, and Tifa is taken aback by how much nicer he suddenly seems.

“You can say that. There isn’t much to do here.”

The humor in his voice betrays his lie, and Tifa can’t resist saying something in return. “There’s always something to do.”

“Well,” he amends with a smirk, “I suppose so. Did you think I was lying?”

Tifa blinks in surprise, then shrugs as if to agree. “Were you?”

For a second, she’s afraid she should have let it go—Zack’s silence is heard despite the ambient noise and the music. But then he lets out another laugh; it’s loud, attracting attention from others nearby.

“I might have been,” Zack says, still chuckling. “You know what, I like you, Tifa.”

It strikes her that she never told him her name; that she didn’t introduce herself; that he greeted her by name when she got here. And though she’s not sure why, nothing about this is unsettling—even as the stray thought that maybe it should be nags her.

“I never told you my name,” she blurts out. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Reno tilt his head her way like he’s trying to eavesdrop.

Zack winks. “I know everyone’s name.”

Tifa doesn’t hesitate—she lets out a short, quiet laugh as if she thought of the whole thing as a joke. No other answer feels appropriate to her, and that same undercurrent of humor slithering through Zack’s voice has her on edge. She can’t say why exactly, and as the conversation drifts towards another topic, she leaves her unnamed suspicions alone.

Still, as Zack’s gaze lingers on her at times, she has the impression there is no fooling him.


End file.
